Bows and Arrows
by Miniflip999
Summary: England doesn't seem to be home. America is worried something has happened. Just what does he find inside? Rated T. Warning: Language, a confused American, BTT, and Big Brother France.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Woo! My first multi-chapter fic written by just me! :D Tell me what you guys think!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia kthxbai.**

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The day was unusually sunny, the warmth of golden rays beating down on Alfred's back as he made his way through Arthur's front yard, up to the door. The day was relatively warm, a slight breeze cooling the rather hot afternoon. The world meeting was to take place in London in two days' time, and America had decided he'd get there early. Of course, he wasn't going to stay at a hotel. He'd stay with Arthur, and the Englishman, being the 'gentleman' that he was, would let the American stay.

America made his way up the porch steps, stopping in front of the wooden door, and pounding on it loudly. He waited a few minutes, waiting for England to yell, and then open the door.

…No one answered. Oh well. Alfred wouldn't give up that easily. He pounded the door again with his fist, adding his voice to the noise. "Hey! Iggy! It's me! Al! Open the door!" He waited another minute, but, being impatient, he gave up. Crossing his arms and huffing, he looked around for the flower pot with Arthur's spare keys under it. If England wasn't home, he'd just let himself in and wait until he got back. America couldn't help but chuckle a little. England really did need to find a better spot for his house keys; almost everyone who visited him knew where they were hidden.

Looking for the pot, Alfred blinked in surprise. The flower pot wasn't there. Neither were the keys. "Huh? Did Iggy move the pot? Where'd it go? In fact…"

Alfred bent over to look at the spot where the small pot had stood near the edge of the porch, looking over the side to see if it had fallen. To his surprise, lying in the flower bed beside the porch was the flower pot, smashed. The key was gone—no matter how hard the American looked, he just couldn't find it. He straightened up, sighing in frustration.

"Jeez. What did Iggy do to break the flower pot?" he wondered absentmindedly. It was only then that he noticed an arrow sticking out of the dirt, right where the flower pot had fallen and broken. Confused, he picked up the arrow. "W-wha—?" America ran his fingers along the smooth wood, brushing the feathers at the end lightly, slightly touching the point. He winced to find that the arrow was sharp.

Millions of thoughts suddenly raced through his overactive imagination.

What if Iggy had been attacked? What if he had been kidnapped? What if he was tied up somewhere? What if he was being tortured? What if—

Alfred turned back to the door, unable to stop the horrible scenarios he would possibly see in the Brit's house. He tried to open the door. It opened, having been unlocked. America panicked slightly. Had someone gotten here before him and done something to England? Only that could explain why the grumpy Englishman hadn't answered the door!

Alfred closed the door behind him, making sure to keep it unlocked in case he needed to dash out of there quickly—not that he was scared. He was the Hero, after all! Venturing down the hall, he called out "Iggy? Y-you here?" No answer. He checked the kitchen. Waiting for him there was a cup of tea on the table, untouched—cold now. It had been made some time ago. Alfred looked everywhere in the house, finding no trace of the British nation.

Standing in the living room, America quietly looked through the books on the book shelf, deciding to wait a little, figuring that England had probably just had to leave on short notice, seeing as that tended to happen a lot. It was no wonder that Arthur always seemed tired. Looking through the various novels, something on the floor caught his eye. A book—it had been knocked out of place somehow. Alfred chuckled. It seemed that England was a bit out of it, seeing as there were multiple things out of place.

The thump of wood caught the American's attention, and he turned swiftly, alarmed. The living room was empty, same as before. He chuckled. "Get it together, man. You're losing it," he scolded himself, trying to tell himself that he had just imagined the sound. Unfortunately, the sound came again, drumming along for a few seconds before falling silent once more.

Alfred shuffled towards the center of the room, his head turning from side to side, trying to locate the source of the noise. "A-alright! W-who's there? T-this isn't funny! Come out!" The only answer he received was a soft, child-like giggle. "Peter? Are you hiding in Arthur's house? This isn't funny! Come out now!" he yelled, frustrated. If it was Sealand, the little brat was going to get it.

Above Alfred, on one of the wooden beams, a shape moved in the shadowed part, emerald green eyes flashing playfully. The American's back was turned to the beam, and the already playful smirk on the person's face widened slightly. The boy gathered his legs under him and launched himself at America, landing on the American's shoulders, eyes bright.

"France!" the boy yowled, crashing into America as the tall nation turned around. "How dare you intrude on my home!" the green eyed child snarled somewhat playfully, tone revealing that he was slightly amused and satisfied at the reaction he had received.

Alfred stumbled backward, tripping onto the floor, growling. "Why you—What the hell? Get the hell off-" He cut himself off, still not seeing the face of his attacker. "What? I'm not France! Ew! Like hell I'd be that pervert! What the hell are you doing in Iggy's ho-" He stopped midsentence, looking at his attacker, coming face to face with a child of about thirteen years with bright, emerald green eyes, messy, short, blond hair, and thick eyebrows. He gaped at the teen, not sure he believed what he was seeing.

"I-Iggy?"

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**Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Sorry for the wait everyone! Finals had come along, and I had gotten sick the week before. And last weekend I didn't have time to work on this chapter at all. *sigh* Well, its finally done though! Thank you to everyone who favourited/reviewed this story! I was pretty happy when I got so many encouraging me to continue this! Enjoy this chapter. I hope it makes up for the long wait.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything.**

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Alfred could only stare and gape. The boy in front of him was smirking, laughing slightly. Sitting completely still with the teen on top of him still, he stared at who was in front of him. The green eyes, the messy blond hair, the large eyebrows… It couldn't possibly be anyone else! But how could it be him?

The short boy laughed, still not looking at America properly. "You should have seen your face, France! It was priceless! I can't believe you freaked out like that, frog! How pathe—"

Alfred looked up at Arthur's face. The smaller nation was gaping, his face pale, having finally looked at the American's face properly. His eyes were wide and he stuttered to find cohesive words. England just stared at America, unable to comprehend what he was looking at—just like America couldn't figure out what he was looking at while gazing at the child's face. Arthur finally managed to form words, it seemed, just as Alfred was going to speak again.

"W-wait a minute… Y-you aren't Francis… W-who-?" he spluttered out, unable to finish his sentence at first. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he managed, his voice cracking a little. Within an instant, America found the weight on his hips gone, and looked to see a younger England jumping up and running off, trying to find a door or window to escape out of.

Soon, Alfred was off the floor as well, chasing after the small boy. "H-hey! Wait up!" he called, trying to catch the lithe teen. God dammit, that kid was fast. After a few minutes of chasing, Alfred finally caught Arthur by the collar of his shirt, yanking the thin teen back and closing his arms around him, preventing him from escaping. Arthur struggled and squirmed in the American's grip, hissing curses in English and another language Alfred failed to identify, twisting this way and that, trying to slip out of his grip, but failed.

Arthur's green eyes gleamed in annoyance at being caught. Turning the lithe boy to face him, Alfred finally got a good look at England. He was much shorter, that was for sure; maybe about five feet and three inches, but he couldn't be sure. Arthur was wearing a long sleeved, white tunic—similar to those America had seen in movies like "Robin Hood" and other animation he had seen. He also wore light brown pants and black boots that almost went up to his knee. A black belt was secured around his waist over the white shirt that had not been tucked in. Draped over his shoulders was a hooded green cloak. Only now had Alfred noticed the bow slung around Arthur's shoulders and the quiver at the belt around his hips.

America hated to admit this, but England looked impressive—defiant eyes glaring up at him with the spirit of a lion, a sleek body, dressed in such light-weight and unrestrictive clothing, a longbow and a quiver of arrows completing the look of a professional archer. Only this archer was a thirteen year old boy.

Shaking his head, Alfred cleared his head of these thoughts. He had to focus on how the hell England had ended up like this. But first thing to do: find out how much the kid knows.

Taking a deep breath, America started his interrogation.

"Alright. Enough running away, got it? I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions, and I want you to answer them," he started professionally, hoping to come off as a lawyer of some sort. All he received was a venomous glare from the teenager standing in front of him.

He sighed, realizing he probably wouldn't get far with this interrogation. Time to call France, he figured. Keeping a grip on Arthur's cloak, Alfred took out his cell phone and dialed Francis's number. He looked back at England, who now had a scowl decorating his young features. Even with a scowl, Arthur looked pretty cute like that, he thought. Wait… Where had that come from? Oh well. Alfred tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for France to pick up his cell phone.

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Laughter rang throughout the room, bottles of alcohol on the table, glasses filled. Francis picked up his glass of wine, raising it to Gilbert and Antonio. The Bad Touch Trio had finally managed to get together again for a drink, having not had the chance to go out like this for a long time. Glasses clinked, and the liquid ran down their throats. Setting his half empty glass down, Francis chuckled.

"It has been a while, no?" he stated, starting up a conversation. "I'm so glad I could get together with you both."

Prussia and Spain just laughed and nodded, the albino wearing a devious smirk. "It's because you're both way too busy being countries or molesting someone else!" he laughed, receiving sarcastically hurt stares from the two nations. Just as Antonio was about to say something, Francis's cell phone went off.

Sighing, the French man took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Alfred? What could he want? "Ah~ It is _Am__é__rique_," he informed his companions. Prussia and Spain looked at each other with confused glances. Leaning forward, Antonio asked,

"Alfred? Why would he be calling you?" His question was answered with a shrug as France answered the phone, ending the ringing that didn't seem like it would have stopped any time soon had they ignored it.

"_Mon cher Am__é__rique_," Francis purred. "What entices you to call me? I'm busy at the moment."

There was an annoyed huff from the other end, following with a quick shout that seemed distant, but in a familiar voice that was not Alfred's. "_Francis, I need you to come to Arthur's house _now," America demanded. "_Something _really _weird has happened to him_."

Francis raised a brow, sending a confused glance over to the Prussian and Spaniard across from him. "What do you mean, _Am__é__rique_? Has something bad happened to _mon cher Angleterre_?" he asked, a bit worried. Something extremely worrying or extremely urgent must have happened if _France_ had been called, of all nations. Spain and Prussia exchanged somewhat worried glances at each other upon hearing France's words. Something had happened to the grumpy Brit? What could have possibly been .

"_Well, y'see, Francis…_" America started, trailing off, trying to find the right words. "_England has, well… shrunk…_"

The Frenchman gaped. What had America just said? He shook his head slightly, convinced he had heard things. "_Je suis désolé_, Alfred. But I don't believe I heard you right. _Angleterre_ shrunk? He must have just messed up another spell. I'm sure _mon petit lapin _can fix it himself," he replied.

Shifting could be heard on the other side of the line. "_Well, no… That isn't really it. Could you possibly explain why England has… turned into a child?"_

Silence. Francis was shocked at the American's words. How…? He shook his head. He needed to get to Arthur's house _now_. "I'll be there as quickly as I can," he told Alfred, hearing a relieved sigh from the other end. A quick 'see you soon' and France had hung up and stood.

"Oi! Where the hell are you going, Francis? We just got started here!" Prussia whined, wanting to get back to drinking like they had been before.

"Ah… About that. There is a problem at _Angleterre's_ home, and I must help out. I don't think _Am__é__rique_ would be able to handle the situation properly." France was just about to walk out the door when Spain had grabbed his arm. Francis looked at the Spaniard, confusion written in his expression.

"We shall come as well then, _amigo_. I've known _Inglaterra_ almost as long as you. I have a right to know what is wrong, _¿__comprende?_" Francis just nodded at his friend, leading the Prussian and Spaniard out of the bar and to the port, where they would get on a ship and head to England's home.

Alfred ended the call and put away his cell phone, still gripping the fabric of the teen's cloak. He looked at Arthur in the eyes, trying to find any sign that the child still knew about the modern world. No avail; the kid's eyes were wise, but not as wise as they were as an adult. Sighing, the American decided to tell the young Briton that France was coming.

"Hey. France is going to be coming over, alright?" At the statement, Arthur began spewing curses no thirteen-year-old should have known.

"Bloody hell, are you stupid? Why did you fucking go and do _that_? I don't want the bloody frog here! He's a fucking wanker! You're a fucking _moron_! Fuck off and go to hell, git!" he spat at Alfred, a venomous scowl decorating his face. Arthur yelled more in a language America did not understand. When had England become bilingual? America thought to himself.

Suddenly, there was an intense pain in Alfred's right foot. Letting go of the Brit, Alfred held his foot and shouted a curse, clutching it in pain.

Arthur took advantage of the sudden freedom and made a break for it, escaping out of Alfred's reach and racing towards the front door. The small teen flung the door open and dashed out, smacking head-first into someone else. Toppling to the ground in a heap, the Briton held his forehead and glared up at who had ruined his escape. Eyes widening slightly, England had a horrible feeling enter his system. Staring down at him was Francis; behind the Frenchman, Gilbert and Antonio. Arthur's stomach twisted in horror as he found himself staring up at the three people he had been hoping _not_ to run in to. Curse his bloody luck.

France was the first to speak. "_Mon petit lapin_… Y-you really _are_ a child again!"

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**Translations:**

**French**

_Angleterre_: England

_Mon petit lapin_: My little bunny

_Mon cher_: My dear

_Amérique_: America

_Je suis désolé_: I'm sorry.

**Spanish**

_Amigo_: Friend

_Inglaterra_: England

_¿Comprende?_: Understand?


	3. Chapter 3

France and England continued to stare at each other for what seemed like hours, a slight irritated scowl decorating the Briton's features, while the Frenchman simply gaped. From behind France, Prussia and Spain leaned to the side to look past the stunned Frenchman to glance at the small Brit.

All were broken out of their trance when Spain squealed. "Ah! He's so cute!" Quickly, the Spaniard had Arthur in his arms, hugging the confused teen tightly, ignoring the struggles and protests from the smaller. "I can look past the fact that you destroyed _m__i__ Armada _when you're like this, _Inglaterra_!" he said, smiling widely.

"L-let me go!" England cried out, eyes wide with confusion and slight fear, not really knowing what was going on and why Antonio was hugging him. Suddenly, America came hopping through a door on one leg, holding the other to his chest in his arms, face contorted in slight pain and anger.

"That damn brat stomped on my foot!" he yelled out, only barely noticing the small nation he was referring to flinch from the tone of voice. The Brit was slightly paler now, taking note of a threat, it seemed.

"Now, now, _Am__érique_. I'm sure you just scared _mon petit lapin_. If I am right, and he has gone back that far, he will not know who you are." France glanced at the Spaniard who was continuing to hug England. "Antonio, could you please search _L'Angleterre's _house and see if he did any magic to bring about this mess?"

Antonio looked up at Francis and nodded, releasing Arthur from his hold. The lithe teen dashed to hide behind France from a furious looking America, peeking out from behind the Frenchman, looking somewhat concerned. Francis laughed obnoxiously and bent down slightly to look at Arthur. "Well, well, _mon cher_. Are you _scared_ of _Amérique_?"

England scowled at France and kicked his shin, dashing out of the room to leave the Frenchman crying out "_Mon Dieu_!"

By the time Prussia had stopped laughing and France had stopped holding his shin in pain, England had fled out the front door into the rather large garden that was perfect for a child or teen to hide.

"Bastard!" France snarled, tackling Prussia while he wiped tears from his eyes.

Prussia simply side-stepped the attack, and Francis toppled to the ground in a heap. "Ah… That was rich."

Antonio walked into the room, wondering what all the laughter and yelling was about. "¿_Qué_? What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing, Antonio. Did you find anything?" Francis asked, dusting himself off and straightening his clothes as he stood up. He looked at the Spaniard quizzically.

But Spain shook his head. "No. There was nothing. I even checked _Inglaterra's _basement. There were no books out. Everything was clean."

Francis let out an exasperated sigh. How did England turn into a child then? This was puzzling.

"Hey, where _is_ Artie?" America's voice broke them out of their thoughts, and the three older nations looked around for the English one.

"Scheiße! He's gone!" Gilbert exclaimed. "He ran out while we weren't paying attention!"

Francis froze. "This is not good. Do you have any idea what kind of chaos a teenager who has no knowledge of the real world, is dressed in an outdated outfit, and has a bow and arrow could cause in the city if he got there?"

Everyone else in the room paled.

"Well, shit." With these words from America's mouth, all four ran out of Arthur's house and into the garden to block the exits and search for the small Brit.

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**I have no excuse as to why this came out so late. It's also short too... Sorry. But this story is just not top priority for me. I'm writing a novel, and there are other fanfiction ideas I'd like to write. I have a poll up in my profile right now, in fact, for the next plots I'll be writing. You can vote for the next one in there. In fact, please do.**

**Anyway, thank you for waiting so long. I'm very sorry I didn't get this out sooner.**

**Please review~! If you have any ideas for this story, tell me! Because I'm forgetting what I was going to do with it. /shot**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.**


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